En savoir plus
Zusatztext Praise for Unnatural Acts “Woods’s well-tested formula ensures that the action purrs along fueled by good food! good liquor! good sex! and plenty of wealth.”— Publishers Weekly “Entertaining.”— Mystery Tribune More Praise for Stuart Woods “Stuart Woods is a no-nonsense! slam-bang storyteller.”— Chicago Tribune “A world-class mystery writer...I try to put Woods’s books down and I can’t.”— Houston Chronicle “Mr. Woods! like his characters! has an appealing way of making things nice and clear.”— The New York Times “Woods certainly knows how to keep the pages turning.”— Booklist “Since 1981! readers have not been able to get their fill of Stuart Woods’ New York Times bestselling novels of suspense.”— Orlando Sentinel “Woods’s Stone Barrington is a guilty pleasure...he’s also an addiction that’s harder to kick than heroin.”— Contra Costa Times (California) Informationen zum Autor Stuart Woods was the author of more than ninety novels, including the #1 New York Times bestselling Stone Barrington series. A native of Georgia and an avid sailor and pilot, he began his writing career in the advertising industry. Chiefs , his debut in 1981, won the Edgar Award. Woods passed away in 2022. Klappentext In this action-packed thriller in Stuart Woods's #1 New York Times bestselling series, Stone Barrington discovers that some jobs don't pay… When a hedge fund billionaire hires Stone Barrington to talk some sense into his wayward son, it seems like an easy enough job; no one knows the hidden sins and temptations of the ultra-wealthy better than Stone. But as Stone and his erstwhile protégé, Herbie Fisher, probe deeper into the case-and an old one comes back to haunt him-he realizes that even he may have underestimated just how far some people will go to cover up their crimes, and commit new ones. 1 ELAINE’S, LATE. It was as late as it was ever going to get at Elaine’s. Elaine had died nearly six months earlier, and the restaurant couldn’t make it without her. This was its last night. “You know,” Dino said, gazing at the mob jammed into the place, “if half these people had had dinner here once a week after she died, this joint would still be thriving.” “You’re right,” Stone said, “but I guess the place could never be the same without Elaine to hold it together.” “I feel sorry for the writers,” Dino said. “There isn’t another joint in town that gives the best tables to writers. They’ll be wandering up and down Second Avenue, looking for someplace to eat.” “And think of all the book deals that won’t get made here,” Stone said. “Where else do writers and publishers mingle?” All the tables had temporary tops that seated ten people, and Stone and Dino were jammed against the wall, so close to the next table that if they wanted to get to the men’s room, they would have to stand on their chairs and walk across the table. There were two hundred people lined up on Second Avenue, waiting to get in. Bill Eggers, the managing partner of Stone’s law firm, Woodman & Weld, spoke up from across the table. “Never mind the writers,” he said, “where are you two guys going to eat?” “I have no idea,” Stone said. “There just isn’t another place in the city that has what Elaine’s had. Forty-eight years she was here.” Somebody with a video cam elbowed his way up to the table and panned around the group. Herbie Fisher and his girl and Bob Cantor and his wife were there. Holly Barker had flown up from Washington for the occasion and was staying with Stone. The cameraman moved on. Stone looked around and saw plenty of regulars: Gay Talese, Frederic Morton, David Black, Nick Taylor, Carol Higgins Clark—all writers; photographers Harry Benson and Jessica Burstein were taking ...
